17. Mel
Chapter seventeen
Mel
I ’m trying my hardest to avoid Alex at all costs. I’ve been working more at the office and even reaching out to people I’ve been meaning to catch up with for ages to make plenty of appointments outside of the house. I’m worried that if I’m home too often and he’s there that I’ll be drawn up those stairs to knock on his door and see how he’s doing.
He’s been here nearly two weeks though and as far as I know, has only been in the house a couple of times when Zack has invited him over and I’ve made myself scarce. He must surely need to do some laundry by now. Does he even know how to do it? Perhaps his mum used to do it for him? If I take ten minutes to show him how it all works and agree a day he can do it, I can then leave him to it. I can also check if there’s anything else he needs at the same time.
I shoot him a text:
Me:
Hey, it’s Mel. If you’re around today, I can show you how to use the washing machine and dryer if you want. Surely you must need some clean clothes by now?
It’s not too long before my phone beeps with his reply:
Alex:
That would be good, thanks. I can be over in half an hour if that works for you.
Me:
Sure, see you then. *smiley face emoji*
I make myself a cup of herbal tea and tidy up some paperwork that’s been accumulating on the kitchen counter while I wait for him. I’ve got a quiet day at work, meeting-wise, and I’m taking some time out as it’s about to get manic with the end of the year rush of events we have on.
It doesn’t seem like much time has passed before I hear a knock at the back door. I head over and can see his silhouette through the frosted glass. I open up, being sure to paste a polite smile on my face.
“Come in.” I stand back, and he carries in a big reusable shopping bag full to the brim with clothes. I can’t hold in my laugh. “You were waiting for an invitation, I take it?”
“Err, still getting the hang of it all, to be honest. Good thing you texted because I’m currently wearing my last clean pair of boxers.” He gives a rueful grimace.
“Come through, I’ll show you how it all works.” He follows me through to the tiny laundry room off to the side of the kitchen. I hadn’t thought this through. It’s very close quarters in here.
I open the door for the washing machine, which is stacked underneath the dryer.
“It should all fit in here. Chuck it in.” I take a step to the side, but he still has to brush close to me to load it. “There’s laundry detergent here… just use this. No need to have your own.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t even thought to get some.” I pass him the bottle and our fingers brush as he takes it from me. He draws in what sounds like a shaky breath. “How much do I use?”
“Fill up the cap and then chuck the whole thing in the machine.” I watch as he does as instructed. “Then this is probably the best setting for everyday washing. If you have any more dirty stuff from the pottery, I’d use this one.” I point at a different setting.
“Thanks. I rinse it out at the studio so most of the clay dust and silt is gone.”
“It should take about an hour. You’ll need to check your labels to see if it can go in the dryer. That’s really simple… just flick this dial round to the time you want. Usually an hour does it. But be sure to set a timer, so you remember to come and get it. It’ll smell of damp if you leave it in there.”
“Okay, thanks.” He gives me a nod and pulls his phone out of his back pocket, setting a timer for an hours’ time. “Is it okay if I come back to switch it over?”
“Yeah, no worries. How’s everything else over there? Do you have everything you need?”
“It’s great, thanks. I’m sleeping like a hibernating bear. The sofa bed is surprisingly comfortable.”
“Excellent, and the wifi is all good?”
“Yeah, no problems.” A pause and he looks at me as if trying to decide what to say next. “Abby suggested I do something to say thank you, like washing your car.”
The blush floods my cheeks. Dammit, Abby, I mentioned that in confidence. He has a knowing look in his eyes and I’m sure my blush isn’t helping.
“Did she?” I frown.
“I haven’t paid you any rent yet. Should I set up an automatic payment?”
“There’s no rush.”
“I want to pay my way.”
“Okay.” I give him a nod. At least we’re no longer talking about that daft bet we made in bed. “Come through, I’ll write down my bank details.” He follows me to the breakfast bar and I grab a notepad. I add the amount we agreed underneath and pass it over.
He looks it over. “Thanks. I’ll get this set up today.”
“Honestly, there’s no rush.”
“I’ll be back in a bit to switch the laundry. I’ll knock before I come in.”
“Okay, probably see you soon then.”
“You’re home all day?”
“Yes, I’ve got a work event tonight, but here until then.”
He heads out, and I breathe a big sigh as he does.
Once I’m sure he’s gone and peek out the window to see him go into his place, I grab my phone and bring up Abby’s number. I hit the call button and listen to it ring several times.
“Hey, Mel.”
“You've been meddling again?” I don’t bother with a greeting.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t take that innocent tone with me. Did you, or did you not, suggest that Alex does something to ‘thank me?’ Something like washing my car?” I should have video called her so I could watch as she tries to get out of this.
“Ahh, it was too good not to. Sorry, Mel. How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine. Keeping himself to himself. I was just showing him how to use the washer and dryer.”
“It seems such a shame to have him so close, knowing that he’s so willing to please you in bed and not do anything about it.”
I humph, not knowing what else to say. I daren’t admit to her it’s crossed my mind more than a few times.
“Have you seen his pottery pieces?”
“No, not yet. I’ve got a meeting at the Arts Centre later this week. Maybe I’ll pop by and have a look.”
“You totally should. His stuff is amazing. He gifted me a beautiful mug as a thank you for the furniture I gave him. It’s stunning. Do you follow him on Instagram?”
“What? No.” I haven’t let myself search his name online. That seems like a step too far.
“I’m sending you the link now. You should have a look. He’s amazing.” I hear the notification bell for the message she’s just sent.
“I’ll take a look.”
“When are you coming in for a drink? Cassidy and Tom are off to New York next week. We should all catch up before they go.”
“That sounds good. We should do something when you’re not working.”
We agree to catch up towards the end of the week. I suggest the girls come to me and send Cassidy a message to see if she can make it too. I’ll need to warn Zack. Perhaps he can go out with friends that night. Unless he wants to drink wine and talk about smutty books.
I’m sitting at the breakfast bar, pouring over Alex’s Instagram feed. It’s hot. There’s no other way to describe it. It alternates between stylish, simple photos of his finished pieces, shot from all angles and blatant thirst traps. Videos with him sat at the potter's wheel, slapping the clay down and using his magnificent hands to sculpt it. Occasionally, he looks directly at the camera, and it’s like he’s looking into my soul. He doesn’t talk on the videos but occasionally has music accompanying them.
I’ve just spent almost an hour engrossed in them. The photos of his work drew me in and I get now what Abby was saying about how talented he is. But the videos, the videos have me hooked. What a genius idea. He’s got over 5,000 followers and I can see why. I would lay good money on ninety per cent of his audience being female. When I hear a knock on the door, I drop the phone in my haste to close the app and not look suspicious.
Alex opens the door after waiting a moment and his brows lift in surprise at seeing me sitting there.
“Should I come back later?”
“No, no, it’s all good. Go for it.” I gesture to the laundry room and then use the same hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. I pick my phone back up and flick to my work emails, deleting any junk and marking a few to read later when I’m less distracted.
I hear him switching the laundry from the washer to the drier and he comes back out with some damp clothing over his arm.
“Uh, these don’t go in. I’ll hang them up to dry. I’ll be back again in an hour.”
“Wait, Alex,” I call out without thinking about it. Something makes me want to engage him in conversation, to get to know him better. “Do you want a coffee?”
His head tilts to the side, his eyes sparkling, “Sounds good, thank you.”
“There’s a clothes airer in the laundry—you can hang those items on that if you like.”
I prepare his coffee and one for myself and bring them over to the breakfast bar as he comes back into the kitchen.
“Grab a seat.” I pat the stool next to me. “I’d love to hear more about your pottery work. How long have you been doing it?” What am I playing at? After weeks of avoiding him, I’m now suddenly chatty.
“I had an art teacher who was a potter. He had a kiln at school. We did a term of pottery and then he set up a club. I was hooked. I love getting my hands dirty. It’s always been kinda magic to me that I can take a lump of clay and turn it into something beautiful.”
I can’t look away, entranced by his passion for the craft. His whole face lights up as he talks about it.
“What sort of stuff do you make?” I know fine well after my recent Instagram stalking, but I want him to tell me about it.
“All sorts. As part of my apprenticeship, I need to learn and be able to demonstrate different forms and techniques. I really love creating on the wheel. I’ve been working up with sizes. Last week I made a huge vase with a massive lump of clay. It took several attempts to get it right.” A satisfied grin tugs at the corners of his mouth, causing dimples in his cheeks. My hand twitches with the need to reach up and stroke his face.
“How many times does it go wrong?” I ask.
“Loads. And at all stages of the process. It could look amazing and then end up exploding in the kiln. You really have to be able to let go of perfectionism and just go with the flow.”
“That sounds difficult,” I respond with a wince. “Going with the flow isn’t exactly my strong suit.”
“But in your line of work, you must have to be flexible, right?” he asks. “I guess stuff changes all the time when you’re running events.” I look across to the window while I ponder his question to stop myself from staring at him.
“Yeah, I guess I can be flexible. But I find it difficult when I’m not the one making the decisions.” Our eyes meet, lighting up a fire deep in my belly. He’s so easy to talk to. I could sit here for hours.
“I think there’s more beauty in imperfection than perfect things,” he says earnestly, our gazes still locked. “I can spot flaws and things I could improve in every single piece I’ve ever made. But they make the pieces unique. The blemishes and faults tell the story of the piece and all the work I’ve put in to complete it.”
“I’d love to see your work and watch you on the wheel.”
“You should come down to the studio. I can give you a demo and you can have a go if you like. We could go for lunch afterwards?” His tone is hopeful.
I can picture everything he’s suggesting. How fun it would be to learn from him. How wonderfully normal it would be to go to lunch together and chat, just like we are today.
“I’d like that,” I tell him, unable to hold back my joy-filled grin.
“You’d have to leave your perfectionism at the door though,” he warns with an amused tone. “If I held myself to ridiculously high standards, I would never finish anything. And I’d love for you to end up with your own completed piece of pottery.”
“I can try. And I’d love to learn from you.” Hope sits lightly on my shoulders at the thought of more .
“I better head off. I need to get some stuff sorted before my shift. But let’s make a date to do it soon, yeah?”
And with that, he’s gone.
While I’m still sitting there, a stupid grin on my face, daydreaming about a date with Alex, I reopen the Instagram app and before I can question it, hit follow on his account. With that many followers, perhaps he won’t even notice my name.
“So, have you given in yet and fucked him again or what?” is Cassidy’s greeting as I open the door to her a few days later.
“Cassidy!” I admonish, but she’s remorseless, tilting her head to the side and waiting for my response. “No, I haven’t, and thanks for checking if my son was here to overhear before you speak.”
She has the good sense to look guilty as she cringes. “Sorry, Mel,” she whispers.
“It’s fine. He’s out, thank goodness.”
“I forget that you’re a bigger grown up than me with a full-grown kid and everything.”
“Me too, sometimes.” I grimace and show her through to the lounge. I grab her coat and hang it in the cupboard before there’s another knock at the door.
“Hey, Mel.” Abby is full of beans when I open it. She steps in carrying a bag in one hand and I hear the clang of glass as she hugs me.
“I said you didn’t need to bring anything.”
“I know, but I had a bottle of rosé already chilling in the fridge, so I thought I’d bring it.”
I raise my brows at her. “I didn’t have you down as a rosé drinker.”
“I’ll try anything once and more often if I enjoy it.” She gives me a saucy grin. “I recommend it. It’s a good way to live your life.”
I’m leading her through to the lounge now and Cassidy looks over her shoulder where she’s standing in front of my massive bookshelf.
“What’s a good way to live your life?”
“Trying anything, or anyone, once. And if it’s good, you go back for more.”
Cassidy lets loose a husky giggle, her eyes sliding to mine in amusement.
“I don’t know what I was thinking when I told you two that I’d slept with him.”
“You were doing your good friend duty of sharing tales of good dick. That’s what makes a friendship and you know it.” Abby pats me on the shoulder as she squeezes past to join Cassidy in front of the books. “Fucking hell, Mel, this is a huge amount of books.”
“It sure is, and I am super impressed with the ratio of porn to classic literature,” Cassidy says, her hands brushing along the shelves as she checks the titles and authors.
“I can’t help it. I think it’s an addiction. Especially with the special editions and bonus scenes.”
“I really need to release more of my backlist as special editions,” Cassidy says.
“So what kind of ratio have we got here? Of porn to literature?” Abby asks.
“Oooh, I reckon 80/20.” Cassidy lets out a breath.
“Only twenty per cent porn? I expected more from you, Mel.” Abby shoots me a look of disappointment.
“Oh no, the other way,” Cassidy answers. “Eighty per cent pure unadulterated smut. I’m proud to be your friend, Mel.” She has a massive grin on her face and we all chuckle together.
“What’s a divorcee to do? Gotta get my kicks somewhere,” I joke and then nearly groan out loud as they turn to face me in perfect synchronisation.
“Well, there’s somewhere pretty close by where you could get your kicks if you were so inclined,” Abby suggests while Cassidy gives a grave nod of agreement.
“Do we have to talk about this? You guys already dragged all the dirty details out of me after it happened.”
“And you can bet on your life that most of that will end up in one of my books, Mel,” Cassidy tells me. “The details were awesome. We are grateful you shared them with us. But tonight it’s about something else…” She pauses, giving Abby some side eye.
I wait for whatever plan it is they’ve concocted. Abby gives Cassidy a subtle shake of her head before stating, “Wine and book chat, of course. Where are the glasses?”